Are crowns yet to be won, in this late time, Which weakness makes me hesitate to reach? 'Tis God's voice calls, how could I stay? Farewell! Talk by the way, while PIPPA is passing from the Turret to the Bishop's brother's House, close to the Duomo Santa Maria. Poor Girls sitting on the steps. 1st Girl. There goes a swallow to Venice-the stout seafarer! Seeing those birds fly, makes one wish for wings. Let us all wish; you, wish first! 2d Girl. To finish. I? This sunset 3d Girl. That old-somebody I know, Grayer and older than my grandfather, To give me the same treat he gave last week- Since had he not himself been late this morning, 2d Girl. Ist Girl. How she can lie! My turn. Spring's come and summer's coming: I would wear Deuzans and junetings, leather-coats-ah, I should say, 3d Girl. Say at once You'd be at home-she 'd always be at home! 5 10 15 20 INTERLUDE III. The cherry orchards, and how April snowed They've rubbed the chalk-mark out, how tall you were, Made a dunghill of your garden! Ist Girl. They destroy My garden since I left them? well-perhaps ! It must have been there long ere I was born : 145 And keep off birds in fruit-time-coarse long papers, 3d Girl. How her mouth twitches! Where was I?—before She broke in with her wishes and long gowns And wasps-would I be such a fool?-Oh, here! 1st Girl. When I was young, they said if you killed one Of those sunshiny beetles, that his friend Up there would shine no more that day nor next. 40 45 2d Girl. When you were young? Nor are you young, that 's true! How your plump arms, that were, have dropped away! No matter, so you keep your curious hair. I wish they'd find a way to dye our hair Than black-the men say they are sick of black, 4th Girl. Sick of yours, like enough! Do you pretend you ever tasted lampreys 50 And ortolans? Giovita, of the palace, Engaged (but there's no trusting him) to slice me An ortolan. 2d Girl. Why, there! is not that Pippa We are to talk to, under the window,-quick,— Where the lights are? Ist Girl. 55 That she? No, or she would sing. 60 For the Intendant said— 3d Girl. Oh, you sing first! Then, if she listens and comes close—I'll tell you, And meant to leave the world for you-what fun ! You'll love me yet!—and I can tarry Your love's protracted growing: Fune reared that bunch of flowers you carry From seeds of April's sowing. I plant a heartful now: some seed At least is sure to strike And yield-what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like. You'll look at least on love's remains, A grave's one violet: Your look ?-that pays a thousand pains. What's death ?--you'll love me yet! 65 70 75 3d Girl. (To Pippa, who approaches) Oh, you may come closer-we shall not eat you! Why, you seem the very person that the great rich handsome Englishman has fallen so violently in love with! I'll tell you all about it. 81 IV.-NIGHT. The Palace by the Duomo. MONSIGNOR, dismissing his At tendants. Monsignor. Thanks, friends, many thanks. I chiefly desire life now, that I may recompense every one of you. Most I know something of already. What, a repast prepared? Benedicto benedicatur —- ugh — ugh! Where was I? Oh, as you were remarking, Ugo, the weather is mild, very unlike winter-weather; but I am a Sicilian, you know, and shiver in your Julys here. To be sure, when 't was full summer at Messina, as we priests used to cross in procession the great square on Assumption Day, you might see our thickest yellow tapers twist suddenly in two, each like a falling star, or sink down on themselves in a gore of wax. But go, my friends, but go! [To the Intendant] Not you, Ugo! [The others leave the apartment] I have long wanted to converse with you, Ugo! Intendant. Uguccio— 14 Monsignor.--'guccio Stefani, man! of Ascoli, Fermo, and Fossombruno;-what I do need instructing about, are these accounts of your administration of my poor brother's affairs. Ugh! I shall never get through a third part of your accounts: take some of these dainties before we attempt it, however. Are you bashful to that degree? For me, a crust and water suffice. 22 Intendant. Do you choose this especial night to question me? Monsignor. This night, Ugo. You have managed my late brother's affairs since the death of our elder brother-fourteen years and a month, all but three days. On the 3d of December, I find him— 28 Intendant. If you have so intimate an acquaintance with your brother's affairs, you will be tender of turning so far back they will hardly bear looking into, so far back. Monsignor. Ay, ay, ugh, ugh,—nothing but disappointments here below! I remark a considerable payment made to yourself on this 3d of December. Talk of disappointments! There was a young fellow here, Jules, a foreign sculptor I did my utmost to advance, that the Church might be a gainer by us both he was going on hopefully enough, and of a sudden he notifies to me some marvellous change that has happened in his notions of art. Here's his letter: 'He never had a clearly conceived ideal within his brain till to-day. Yet since his hand could manage a chisel, he has practised expressing other men's ideals; and, in the very perfection he has attained to, he foresees an ultimate failure: his unconscious hand will pursue its prescribed course of old years, and will reproduce with a fatal expertness the ancient types, let the novel one appear never so palpably to his spirit. There is but one method of escape: confiding the virgin type. to as chaste a hand, he will turn painter instead of sculptor, and paint, not carve, its characteristics,'-strike out, I dare say, a school like Correggio: how think you, Ugo? Intendant. Is Correggio a painter? 50 Monsignor. Foolish Jules! and yet, after all, why foolish? He may probably will, fail egregiously; but if there should arise a new painter, will it not be in some such way by a poet now, or a musician-spirits who have conceived and perfected an ideal through some other channel-transferring it to this, and escaping our conventional roads by pure ignorance of them; eh, Ugo? If you have no appetite, talk at least, Ugo! 59 Intendant. Sir, I can submit no longer to this course of yours. First, you select the group of which I formed one,— next you thin it gradually,—always retaining me with your smile,—and so do you proceed till you have fairly got me alone with you between four stone walls. And now then? Let this farce, this chatter, end now-what is it you want with me? Monsignor. Ugo! 66 |